Under the Hot Sun of Ilios
by Lylie London
Summary: With a little nudge from Widowmaker, a couple of our heroes can't hide their feelings for Mercy any longer. But Angela is in for a surprise that she has trouble processing. (cover image credit to uncomfortable-spider)


Author's note: This story has been edited to comply with FanFiction's rating guidelines; for a more explicit version, see the posting on Archive of Our Own.

 **·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·**

 **A** ngela lay flat on her back, pale arms outstretched, gazing up at the Aegean sky flecked with cottony clouds. She could have felt perfectly happy in this tranquil moment, her Winged Victory dress allowing the bright sun of Ilios to warm her bare skin. Eyes closed, she listened to the hum of cicadas, air fragrant with citrus and olive tree blossoms. She took a shallow breath – yes, this would be a carefree afternoon for her friends: Mei, DVa, and Lúcio had hiked down to the sapphire waters below the cliffs, and were likely by now bathing in the foamy waves, radiant midday sun burning down on their blithe delights.

No such chance for Mercy.

She did enjoy the climate here: warm afternoons faded into sultry evenings, and once the golden sun dropped like a jewel into the sea, silver stars prickled into being, and there were lazy strolls to be taken under the indigo heavens.

Work here could be stressful – rushing into battle, healing her allies while dodging enemies, resting when she could, always another fight on the horizon. Yet Mercy was accustomed to the challenges of her job, and Overwatch's demands thrilled her body and mind. The social component was invigorating, too – she loved to spend time with her friends, both on and off the battlefield. When they'd invited her to the beach this morning, she had readily accepted before backing out at the last moment.

Now she was alone. This grassy area, marble pillars of the ancient temple looming above, was deserted. Only the sun-bleached statues of forgotten heroes kept her company, their stoic expressions a silent vigil, their hearts unfeeling.

Her heart was the opposite of that.

The thudding in her chest had migrated to her head, and showed no signs of letting up. She had been in this state all night, and wondered how long it could continue; a few hours of shallow sleep hadn't restored her, and Angela was thankful she had the day off. That gave her more time to think this through, right? More time to _come to terms_ with it. Often, patients had to be coached through acceptance of injuries; she'd performed such services. The mind did not easily overcome life-changing trauma, and this recent misadventure was no different. Her life had changed yesterday, and the new circumstances – though difficult – were simply _the way things were_.

But how was she supposed to _breathe_ through all of it? Her body refused to comply, and her mind was a wounded soldier desperately bleeding out, alone in no-man's-land without a medic. She involuntarily winced at the word: _soldier._

 **·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·**

TWO DAYS AGO

" **S** he's a hell of a woman, Jack," said McCree, blowing cigar smoke into the early evening air, "but staring at her ass ain't gonna get you nowhere."

Amélie lifted her sunshades, looking up from a mystery novel to observe the two men. As she followed their joint gaze down to the patio below, Dr. Angela Ziegler could be seen bending over to inspect Mei's sketchpad. The short white skirt of her Winged Victory dress did barely cover her pert derrière. Widowmaker snorted at the hapless males on the balcony beside her, and returned to her book – much more absorbing.

"What did you just say?" growled Soldier 76, squaring his shoulders at McCree.

Ooo, Amélie enjoyed good dick-measuring contest. She folded the book closed.

"I said," came the southern drawl, "if you're lookin' for a piece of that, it's gonna involve more than peering at it from behind your visor."

Jack Morrison stood up, which at 6'1" made an intimidating figure, if Jesse had bothered to rise from his lounger and compare height. Widow guessed they were actually the same height, though miles apart in attitude, and eighteen years different in age. Both had a penchant for machoism, however, and Widow anticipated a fight.

"Get over here and say that again," Soldier threatened. "Should've kept your head down, Jesse."

McCree laughed, a smooth sound, like a third glass of whiskey. "I'm just badgerin' you, Jack; but if you don't move on it soon, someone's gonna have you beat, and you'll be glaring from behind those goggles with a greener expression."

Soldier strode forward and leaned down to grab McCree by the collar with one leather fist. "Listen here. You ain't seen me angry, but that's about to change."

McCree sobered up a little, shoving Soldier's hand aside. "Woah, there. It'll take more than that to get me out of this chair tonight. What's say you just forget I said nothin'."

Soldier eyed him for a moment, then turned his back and headed down the stairs. Amélie stealthily followed, catching her target on the landing.

"He isn't wrong, Jack," she purred.

The trained army man whipped around, hand reaching for his gun. "Widowmaker?"

" _Oui_." She set her lips in a half-smirk. "You do have some feeling for that woman, no?" McCree hadn't been the first to notice Soldier dreaming after the shapely medic, and Amélie had a sudden vision of herself as a match-making puppeteer.

"What of it, if I do?" Soldier responded gruffly. "Soldiers move on with the mission, and she's not it."

"I think," she said carefully, "that when McCree warned you about other men, he referred to himself. I'd keep your eyes open, Jack. Or the exquisite Mercy may end up in those quick-drawing hands." She gave him a pitying smile, and slipped back up the stairs, Soldier standing in place thinking over what she hoped were disturbing words.

Walking casually back to her lounge chair, Amélie's platform sandals clunked across the balcony.

"Where've you been?" McCree questioned her.

"Stretching my legs," said replied, tossing her dark blue locks to one side. "A woman has to keep in shape."

"Mhmm." He sounded skeptical, but didn't pry further; he took another puff of his cigar.

"You know," Amélie ventured, "if you truly wish to take the fox from the hunter's path, I advise a strong advance. Women do appreciate confidence."

"You don't say." He didn't comment on her apparent knowledge of his motives, so Widow surmised that the story she'd told Soldier wasn't far from the truth.

"Don't waste the opportunity to knock his ego down," she advised. "He isn't the hero we all make him out to be; not more than any other one of us." She gave him a pointed look, as if to finalize their agreement that McCree would make a move to pursue Mercy. The man only grunted, but Amélie felt confident her pawns had been persuaded into action. She did relish real-life drama: the more sensational, the better. Settling into her book again, a smile lingered on her poisonous lips; this would be _trés amusant_.

 **·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·**

YESTERDAY

 **A** ngela chatted with Jesse McCree as she waited for the round to begin. He was especially charming this morning: he'd greeted her with a compliment on her latest adjustment to the map's health-pack configurations.

"Want to hear a joke, sweetheart?" His voice was warm as honey poured from the jar. "What do you call a Torbjorn without a turret?"

"Tell me," Angela asked obligingly.

"A bachelor!"

She giggled, hand over her mouth shyly. He was an agreeable man; her age, too, and without that shadowy darkness which haunted the eyes of some heroes. He took the scars of battle in his stride, and they didn't hold him back from enjoying the everyday pleasures of life.

Still, Mercy wasn't the kind of girl to get involved with men of his nature. She preferred a more single-minded lover, someone whose eyes gazed only in her direction, and usually – unadvisable though it was – someone who needed _saving_. Call it a doctor complex: Angela was driven by a need to heal the broken, and this tended to bleed over into her romantic life as well. There were certain people in Overwatch whom she took particular care of, keeping her eye on them both on and off the battlefield.

Genji was one, and another was ex-Commander Jack Morrison, who seemed to be glowering more intensely than usual behind his visor this morning. Mercy couldn't guess why – they'd been in Ilios a week, and most of the heroes were in good spirits, brightened by the comforts this location afforded. But Soldier had never been one for luxuries, and perhaps something deeper was troubling him. Angela made a mental note to ask after his wellbeing following the match.

"3, 2, 1…" came the loudspeaker.

With a fetching wink, McCree stepped out of the spawn room and into battle. Soldier was quick to follow, along with DVa and Lúcio; Winston brought up the rear. Mercy spread her brilliant wings and launched herself into the air.

 **·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·**

 **S** he was hurrying back to the well when the revving of Junkrat's RIP-Tire made Mercy dive for cover into the living room on her right. The room was dimly lit by lamps, and as she leaned back against the cool stone wall to catch her breath, Angela noticed a painting on the wall above the blue-and-white striped sofa.

She was just trying to make out the picture when a figure burst into the room from the other doorway. He stopped, noticing her; his visor glowed red: it was Soldier.

Uncharacteristically, he pulled off his visor and mask. She guessed he wanted to speak with her privately – they did sometimes. Perhaps he'd share whatever was troubling him this morning…

"I saw you flirting with McCree."

She started. Was that against the rules? Had she really even been flirting? And here was Soldier to reprimand her, seemingly. "Jack, I wasn't-"

"Are you with him?" his low voice was stony.

"No, I-"

"Good," he replied, crossing the distance between them in one stride, and pulled her into a deep kiss, tongue pushing into her surprised mouth. She felt him pulling both gloves off and suddenly there was a strong hand pressing into her back as he pushed their bodies together.

She shoved him off with both hands, her breath shallow, mind spinning. What on Earth was he thinking? They were just teammates, yes he was a figure of authority, but that didn't give him the right to-

His hands grabbed her by the hips this time and placed her back against the cold cement. She felt dazed, completely out of control. His forehead rested against hers, and she twisted her head to avoid the kiss. She wasn't ready for this, she had never considered this!

One hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to gaze into his pale blue eyes. The dark centres were enlarged, and his breathing heavy and uneven. He wasn't himself, and wasn't in control. She opened her mouth to persuade him this was not inevitable, but he crushed her lips with a demanding kiss. She didn't fight it; she couldn't push off his powerful body this time, so she let him kiss her, his hands relaxing as they explored up and down her waist. She pulled her head free for a moment, desperate to communicate.

"Soldier, stop; I can't breathe, what's happening?" she said.

He paused and looked into her eyes again; his gaze was cold and hot at the same time, triggering a deep thrill of excitement and fear that shot up her core, throat constricting with the intensity of the feelings.

"Angela, please," he begged; Soldier used her first name rarely. "Please, Angela, please. I need this. Please, _please_."

She had no idea how to respond. This battle-hardened man-of-few-words was imploring her with language so unlike him. Soldier never asked for favours; he took what he wanted, and today it seemed he wanted her. But she wasn't his, she wasn't obliged to-

Taking her brief silence as acceptance, he began kissing her again almost gently at first, and then more deeply as he pushed his tongue back into her mouth, caressing and testing how far she would let him go. Her whole body felt on fire, nerves alive with electricity; his rough leather jacket against her smooth bare skin felt intimidating – she was unequipped for this vulnerable feeling.

"Angela, please," he whispered, husky voice sounding almost seductive. She shivered involuntarily, but couldn't think of what to say.

"Don't fight me," he asked. "Please."

Pharah's rocket hit the roof of the house with a sudden explosion. Soldier stepped away with army-trained speed. Mercy distractedly fixed her ponytail, unsure where to look or how to speak.

Soldier was frowning at the floor, holding his gun. His eyes were unfocussed, and he shook his head as if coming out of a trance. When he did finally raise his blue eyes to hers, they were panicked, afraid.

"Jack… it's okay," she whispered, feeling a pull to comfort him, reaching a hand out as she stood.

He stepped back, shaking his head, looking sickened at the sight of her.

Another rocket exploded with a bang.

He threw on the mask and visor, and with one backward glance, strode away.

Mercy breathed out, heart beating in her head. _What the fuck_.

 **·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·:·**

 **R** estless and stressed, Angela stood up from her grassy bed amid the ruins of Ilios. She felt unsteady and unsure, pulse irregularly strong, head still pounding. Yesterday haunted her mind, and she couldn't shake the feelings: horror, lust, grief, regret, desire… a disorienting swirl of extremes.

She walked slowly over to the cliff edge, staring down at the ocean below – miles away. A flightless plunge through the arid air, before hitting the azure surface and falling, weightlessly, into the sapphire waves – it was tempting. She breathed out, wondering how this had happened to her; cheery Angela should not be feeling this way. Her heart should be her own, faithfully beating in her chest, not splintered and screaming in her mind _help me_. She couldn't help herself; he hadn't let her.

 _"Jack!" She had caught up to him, ahead of the group en route to the lighthouse for the evening._

 _He flinched as she grabbed his leather jacket sleeve._

 _"We should talk about what happened," she insisted, as he stopped._

 _A moment passed. Then he turned, face unreadable behind the visor._

 _"Nothing happened, Angela." His low voice betrayed no hint of emotion._

 _She didn't know what to say. Yes it had been – a shock. But now she'd had some time to process, to try to understand, she felt more sympathy than revulsion, and she wanted most of all to help him overcome the wall he had put up, the wall that kept him aloof from others, the fortress he'd built himself. It had all come falling down for those brief moments in that room, and she was intrigued, enthralled by the possibility before her. Soldier, all his barriers down, uncontrollable feelings because of_ her _, raw emotion witnessed by no one else._

 _She wanted him. Not the same way he'd wanted her, but still – she did. She could be his comfort, his saviour, his safe place where he could show himself. She wouldn't judge him and wouldn't hold him back; she would hold her own and let him have her – her heart yearned to be that saviour. Jack was her broken soldier, and he needed her; and she would give herself to him._

 _"I care about you, Jack." Her eyes were wide and serious._

 _"You shouldn't," he replied harshly, ripping his arm from her hold. He continued to walk forward._

 _She followed closely behind._

 _He stopped again and turned to face her. "If something happened, Mercy, it was a mistake. It won't happen again."_

 _So: he was scared. Afraid to let himself slip back into the man he became around her, afraid to let go. He didn't want to know himself, she felt sure of it. You couldn't change the mind of a man like Soldier._

 _Where did that leave her?_

 _As she watched his figure get farther away, a coldness began to creep into her heart. Trying to shield herself from the pain, Mercy numbed her mind._ Think of something else. Don't think about it. _She tried, allowing numbness to override the violent_ breaking _inside her chest. This was not okay._

The shimmering sea was captivating, mesmerizing; its sun-flecked waters sparkled with invitation. How easy it would be to step off the ledge, how quick. Mechanically, Angela reached behind to unclip her suit's wings. They would catch her, so she carefully removed them one after the other.

She didn't have to accept this feeling. Angela didn't think she'd ever felt discarded, used, and unwanted before; she was accustomed to being valued and treasured, a vital player in Overwatch: everyone's secret favourite. She'd held hands with heroes as she breathed life back into their injured bodies – so where were they now that she needed help? Who could pull her back from the cliff and stop this darkness?

The sun was bright and hot but the girl was lost and broken. It wasn't surprising when her foot slipped and the rushing blue of the Ilios sky embraced her falling figure. The fall was inevitable, as unwanted as that first kiss – in other words, destiny.


End file.
